


He Came Upon a Midnight Clear

by chasingriver



Series: Slut!lock - Adventures in Holmescest [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dominance, Figging, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Ginger - Freeform, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Sensation Play, Sex Toys, Sherlock is a Brat, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Vibrator, slut!Sherlock, slut!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is caught shoplifting from Harrods. It's up to Mycroft to administer an appropriate punishment. (Mycroft/Sherlock) Part of the Slut!lock AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistakes were made

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : sibling incest

Sherlock exited the tube station and allowed himself to be carried along amid the throng of holiday shoppers. He glanced up at the imposing old building, outlined in white lights. Harrods: where the rich came to dispose of their not-so-hard earned cash.

Well-heeled women wrapped in expensive coats and carrying overpriced bags preceded him into the bustling shop. A few men, as well, dressed in impeccably tailored suits. _The sort of thing Mycroft would wear_ , he thought, and a slight smirk crossed his pretty features.

The whole building was aggressively decorated - white trees, white twinkling lights, 'greenery', over-sized shiny balls hung everywhere. At least the Christmas music was relatively tasteful and not too loud. It was enough to make you want to throttle someone.

He'd passed a single security guard at the Brompton Street entrance. They weren't even checking bags. _Slacking. Still, I shouldn't let my guard down. There are plenty of others; that's part of the fun._

He made his way to the food halls. It was bustling with an odd combination of tourists, rich locals buying treats for Christmas, and people browsing the fresh sections for something to take home for dinner.

He walked through the main one as quickly as he could, and stepped into the relative peace of the Chocolate Hall. The dimmer light was offset by the display lights at each brand's counter. Truffles of every sort imaginable were piled high in carefully stacked pyramids, arranged in glass display cases. Impeccably dressed, gorgeous staffers, of both sexes, gave smiles as tasteful as the boxes that contained their chocolates.

He made his way to the Charbonnel et Walker counter. Their champagne truffles (they'd been a gift from Mycroft one year) were to die for. He selected one of the small, round boxes and took it to the counter.

"Oh, excellent choice sir. Would you like a sample?" The gorgeous sales boy lifted a silver tray from behind the counter, filled with various types of expensive truffles.

Sherlock beamed at him and took one. "Thank you." He bit into it, savouring the hit of alcohol as it crossed his palate. He groaned and ran his tongue over his lip, an act far more sensual than it needed to be, then made eye contact with the boy, who flushed. He finished the truffle in a remaining bite and smiled disarmingly. "Delicious. Thank you."

The slightly flustered associate rang up his purchase and presented him with the ubiquitous green Harrods carrier bag. Sherlock thanked him and strode off. The chocolates would be a more than adequate Christmas present for Mycroft, and now he had the perfect cover. A legitimate customer rarely aroused suspicion as a shoplifter.

He made his way to the men's department and wondered what he should take this time. It wasn't something he did often - more of a yearly treat. It wasn't the objects; it was the adrenaline rush. None of that 'shove something in a pocket and hurry out' for him. It had to be a challenge.

He took his time and browsed, fending off the occasional polite offer of assistance. He resisted the urge to give one particularly fetching young salesman his phone number. Instead, he imagined what the boy's lips would look like, wrapped around his cock. He let himself enjoy the warmth pooling in his gut. It wasn't just the sexual image in his head - shoplifting always got him aroused.

He stopped at a display of cashmere scarves. He ran his hand across them: incredibly soft. _It'll feel perfect around my neck. It does get so cold when it's damp out like this._ He lifted a dusky blue one from the table and let it unfurl between his fingers. _Lovely._

The dishy sales boy was on the other side of the hall, a good hundred feet away. In one fluid movement, Sherlock took a pair of nail scissors from his pocket, removed the tag, and blithely put the scarf around his neck as if he was trying it on. Then, wearing the scarf, he proceeded to wander the rest of the section and browse.

He gave it five minutes or so then headed towards another section of the shop. He deliberately walked past the sales boy and flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, in a voice low enough to be obscene.

"Happy holidays, sir," the boy replied, and Sherlock had a vision of him pressed against a stall in an opulent Harrods lavatory - his hand pressed over the boy's mouth as he fucked him senseless.

He set off towards the shop entrance at a leisurely pace. By the time he walked through the horrors of the Perfumery, he was positively thrumming with excitement. He was going to be hard for the entire tube ride home at this rate. Perhaps he'd stop off at the Gloucester Road station and use the emergency stairs for a quick wank. Getting caught was unlikely, but the possibility of it would just add another layer to an already arousing evening.

He'd just placed his hand on the door to Brompton Road when he felt a large hand on his shoulder.

"Please come with me, sir."

He whirled around to face a very unamused-looking Harrods security guard.

Sherlock sighed. "Fine." There was no point in making a scene. Not here.

He was led through an unmarked door and down a stairway into the bowels of the shop. He was put in a small room containing a couple of chairs and a television. Another guard, taller than his coworker, joined them.

"Please, have a seat," the first guard said, with formal hostility.

Sherlock looked bored, and sat down.

"We caught you on camera, you know."

"What, flirting with the chocolate salesman? That's hardly a crime."

"No, taking the scarf. Our establishment doesn't take theft lightly. Do you have anything to say before we call the police?"

Sherlock laughed. "Oh, I don't think that will be necessary."

"Why on earth not?"

"Perhaps you don't know who I am. Sherlock Holmes. I'd say 'it's a pleasure', but it really hasn't been so far."

The first guard looked like he was about to punch him, but the taller guard shook his head and gave his associate a warning glance. "You might want to double-check, sir," he said, meaningfully.

"Ah. I see." The shorter guard looked more nervous now. "Charles, stay with him. I need to find out if you're who you claim to be."

"Of course I am!" Sherlock exclaimed as he rose to his feet. "Why would I make that up?"

The other guard pushed him back firmly into the chair. "Remain seated, sir."

Sherlock gave a petulant sigh as the guard left the room.

* * *

Mycroft sipped from a fresh cup of tea and browsed the newspaper. It had been a long day, and it was nice to be home. When his phone rang, he almost didn't answer it.

"Hello, Anthea."

"I'm sorry to bother you at home, sir. There's apparently been some trouble with your brother; I have a security guard from Harrods on the other line."

"Oh, dear Lord. Fine, put him through." _Just what I need after a stressful day,_ he thought.

"Hello, Mr Holmes. I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but you're an extremely important client, and we thought we should notify you before we contacted the police. Do you have a brother named Sherlock?"

"Yes," he sighed. "What did he do this time?"

"He was caught stealing a scarf from the menswear department. We currently have him in our custody."

"Is there any way this matter can be dealt with privately? I do hate to involve the police; they're so busy at this time of year. Perhaps I could compensate you for your inconvenience."

It was crass, but it would work.

"Of course sir, no need to bring the police into it. You are _such_ a valued client." The guard's voice practically dripped sweetness.

_And I'm sure you'll be expecting such a healthy bribe,_ he thought. _And you'll get it, but Sherlock's the one who's going to pay for this._ His mouth went dry as he started thinking of exactly _how_ Sherlock was going to make this up to him.

"Thank you _so_ much for your discretion," Mycroft purred. "Oh, and if he's rude, please feel free to silence him in _any_ way you see fit; any way at all. Oh, and I suggest you place him in handcuffs; he's likely to attempt an escape. I shall be there in half an hour. I do ask that you not mention my involvement to my brother; he'll know soon enough." He smiled at the thought of Sherlock sucking off the guard. _Or, perhaps there's more than one? He'll like it even better if that's the case._ He'd be punishing Sherlock properly, but there was no harm in letting his brother enjoy a little fun until he got there.

"Very well, sir. Thank you for all your help."

"No, thank _you,_ " Mycroft said, already planning his brother's punishment.

* * *

Sherlock looked up as the guard re-entered the room.

"My brother vouched for me, I assume?" he said, sounding smug.

"He confirmed your identity, if that's what you mean, yes. Charles, go ahead and phone the police."

Sherlock wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Wait! I thought you said you phoned him."

The guard stood menacingly close and said in a low voice, "I did. And he said to have you booked." He grabbed Sherlock's arms and roughly twisted them behind his back. The cold metal handcuffs snapped shut around his wrists.

"No, wait. This isn't right. It was just a scarf - I'm sure we can work something out!" Sherlock said, his voice desperate. _What the hell? Mycroft always gets me out of these things._ "Look, I'm sorry, please don't call the police." He was practically begging now.

The guard looked at Charles and motioned his head towards the door, and they both left the room.

_Fuck._

They came back in, only seconds later.

_Not nearly enough time to have phoned the police._

"Perhaps there _is_ some way we can work this out, Mr Holmes," Charles said with a grin on his face. "It's terribly stressful, working here during the holidays. The police don't have it much better. If you took care of us, perhaps we could leave them out of it."

Sherlock just glared at him, but he started to get hard again. The idea of sucking off two random guards had a certain appeal. "I suppose I could be amenable to that."

"Did you hear that, Charles?" the first guard said as he chuckled nastily. "He 'supposes he could be amenable' to it. I think we should see how amenable this posh git is to having his mouth stuffed full of cock. The way he was making eyes at that sales boy, I think he'll be gagging for it."

He grabbed his bound arms and dragged him off the chair, dropping him to his knees. "Pretty-boy mouths aren't usually my thing, but one wet hole is as good as another, 'innit Charles?"

"Oh, I don't know," Charles replied, "he's _exactly_ my sort of thing. I haven't had a mouth that pretty in ages."

"Well, you first then. I wouldn't want to spoil him for you."

Charles undid the navy trousers of his uniform and then pulled his pants down far enough to expose his hardening cock. He gave himself a few strokes to get completely hard.

"Take your time. It's not like I'm busy," Sherlock drawled.

"Shut him up, Charles. I've had enough of his cheek."

Charles apparently agreed, because he grabbed Sherlock's hair with his other hand, and forced the round head between Sherlock's lips.

Charles' thick cock was dry, and it rubbed harshly against the sensitive skin of Sherlock's lips as Charles forced it into his mouth. He tried to open his mouth wider, but it was already stretched tight around the massive penis. He curled his lips over his teeth; he couldn't risk hurting him, or they might change their mind about the arrangement.

"Jesus, Frank, look at that. What a face; he was made for this." Charles pulled back slightly, and Sherlock mentally sighed with relief as the wet cock covered his parched lips with his own saliva. It made it so much more comfortable when the guard rammed it back down his throat a second later. The force of it knocked him backwards. His hands were useless, cuffed behind his back, and the guard didn't have a good grip on his head.

Charles fixed that by fisting his hair more firmly than before. "C'mere."

He expected to the guard to fuck his mouth, but he didn't. He pulled back out so only the head remained inside.

"Show me what you can do, unless you just want to gag on it."

He would have smiled if his mouth hadn't been so full. At least this man seemed to appreciate a good blowjob. He delicately swirled his tongue around the head and teased the slit, and the guard moaned his approval. Another fist in his hair meant he was definitely getting somewhere, and it wasn't long before Charles was bucking his hips and coming in thick, creamy spurts down his throat.

Sherlock cleaned him with his tongue before he pulled out.

"Bloody hell. Best Christmas present I've had in years," the guard said, his voice still ragged. He turned and looked at the other guard. "Your turn."

Frank gave Sherlock a hungry smile and started to undo his trousers.

Sherlock gave him a quick appraisal. His longer, thinner dick sat erect in a wild nest of dark hair. Whereas Charles had been toned and neatly groomed, this man tended towards Neanderthal. His gut protruded and his pants were a dingy grey from careless laundering. It was doubtful he'd appreciate a skilful blowjob, and it was doubtful Sherlock would get the chance to give one, if the hungry look in Frank's eyes was any indication.

He was right.

There was no room for subtlety at all as the guard shoved his cock into Sherlock's mouth, gripped both sides of his head with meaty hands, and started fucking his face as hard as he could.

_Pity,_ Sherlock thought. _Such a waste of my skills._ He relaxed as much as he could and let the brute pound his throat. _There's something to be said for a good, hard fuck, but I'd much prefer Mycroft to be the one giving it._

It was over almost laughably quickly. Sherlock found himself pitying whatever poor woman usually received Frank's 'attentions'.

He knelt on the floor, come still dribbling from the side of his mouth, as Frank zipped up his trousers.

"Not bad, really. I can see why you like it, Charles. Bigger mouth than most birds."

Charles cringed and cleaned Sherlock's lips with his handkerchief. "Sorry," he mouthed to Sherlock when Frank wasn't looking.

Sherlock just grinned.

He helped him back into the chair and seemed surprised when he noticed that Sherlock had an erection.

Sherlock shrugged at him. "Happy holidays." He turned to Frank, who seemed to be in charge. "So, am I free to leave now?" he asked, in a bored tone.

Frank huffed. "No, not yet.

He'd barely adjusted his arse in the chair when the door opened, and Mycroft strode into the room.

"Hello, Mycroft," he said and gave his brother a lascivious grin, "I should have known this was your doing. Lovely to see you."

Mycroft took in Sherlock's hard-fucked lips and flushed cheeks, and smiled. "Having a pleasant afternoon, brother?"

The guards mistook it for sarcasm.

Mycroft removed a wad of cash from an inside pocket of his suit coat and handed it to them. "I'm _so_ sorry for your inconvenience. I appreciate your discretion." He said it with just a hint of menace.

"S'no problem, sir," Frank replied, and hurried to undo Sherlock's cuffs.

Sherlock rolled his shoulders to restore the blood flow, gave Charles a quick smile, and followed Mycroft down the hallway.

* * *

Mycroft got into waiting limousine and watched Sherlock climb inside. As his brother sat next to him, he smiled and shook his head. "No. You're going to pay for this afternoon's little indiscretion, Sherlock. Over my knees."

Sherlock whirled his head around. "Don't be absurd! Not here…" He glanced at the dark glass behind the driver - dark, but not opaque.

"Oh, don't worry, brother; it's not one of the usual drivers. I decided to give Anthea a little holiday bonus."

The glass divider lowered, and Mycroft's stunning PA looked over her shoulder at them. "Hello, Sherlock. I hear you were naughty. When Mycroft said he'd have to give you a spanking, I wanted to be a part of it: payback for all your bratty little comments over the past year."

Mycroft eyed the look of horror on Sherlock's face. "Don't worry, she only gets to watch, and I do know how much you enjoy a little exhibitionism."

Sherlock exhaled sharply.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it? Not as much as this will, though. Pull your trousers down and bend over my knees."

"It's only a spanking," Sherlock muttered, "it's not like I won't enjoy it."

"Oh, believe me, I know that all too well. That's why I brought this." He pulled out a small jar filled with water and a large knob of ginger, whittled into the shape of an anal plug. "I prepared it before I left."

"Oh, fuck."

"Language, Sherlock."

Anthea looked at Mycroft, puzzled. "What is it?"

"Fresh ginger, my dear. When used as a plug, the oil from the ginger produces an intense burning sensation. It's quite harmless, but extremely stimulating. The Victorians used it while administering spankings. If the recipient tensed up to lessen the sting of the blow, the ginger would spread even more fire throughout their arse. Quite fiendish, really."

She looked impressed.

"I do like to carry on the old traditions," Mycroft continued. "It's only too bad there's no room to swing a crop in here, but I'm sure I can make do with my palm. Hurry up, Sherlock, we don't have all day."

Sherlock pulled his trousers and pants down around his thighs and his erection sprang free. He gave Anthea a bit of a glare and said, "I don't see why _she_ has to be involved."

"Because _she_ took the call that prevented your pretty little arse from ending up in a holding cell. Well, that, and she's an excellent PA who's as much as a pervert as either of us, and I thought she deserved a treat."

He ran his finger over Sherlock's plump lips. "It looks like they abused your mouth a bit. Did you enjoy it?"

Sherlock nodded. "They weren't as good as you, though." He squirmed against Mycroft and pushed his cock against his thigh.

"Enough of that," Mycroft chided and planted his hand firmly on his lower back.

He looked back at Anthea. "He's quite insatiable. I really am rather lucky. Don't pull out into traffic yet, my dear. I'd hate for you to be distracted."

He removed the ginger from the jar and admired Sherlock's pale arse for a second before he spread his brother's cheeks. He held them apart as he slowly twisted the ginger plug into his tight, pink hole. The mixture of the ginger's natural oil and the water provided plenty of lubrication, but it took a while for Mycroft to force the thick shape of it past his tight sphincter. By the time Sherlock's arse closed firmly around the notch in the ginger, sealing it in, the oil had started inflicting its delicious brand of torment. Sherlock let out a sound that was something between an anguished howl and a moan. "God, My, it burns."

"That's rather the point."

He gave Sherlock no time to dwell on the sensation and brought his palm down onto Sherlock's arse with a loud slap.

Sherlock unconsciously clenched his arse in reaction to the blow, and that set off another wave of fiery torment from the ginger. He gave Mycroft an utterly conflicted look; pain and desire fighting each other for dominance.

"A delicious conundrum, isn't it, Sherlock? If only you could relax, the ginger would be so much easier to tolerate." He gave him a series of hard blows, and Sherlock writhed across Mycroft's knees, trying to find a way to escape the exquisite torture. "How many do you think I should give him, Anthea?"

"It's your decision, sir, but I'd personally like to see him get one for each time he was rude to me this year."

"And how many would you estimate that to be?"

"Oh, at _least_ twenty, sir, but I could be forgetting a few."

"Hm, of course. I think we're up to five." He smacked Sherlock again, and Sherlock groaned his brother's name. "You're making too much noise, Sherlock. I'm not going to put up with this all the way home. Anthea, dear, do you have anything we could use to keep him quiet?" He gave her a sly smile; they'd discussed this on the way to Harrods, and she'd happily agreed.

"Only my panties, sir," she said, innocently. "They're a little wet. Do you think they'll do?"

"Oh, I think they'll do nicely, thank you."

She shimmied out of them, and passed the frilly pink panties to Mycroft. They were, as she'd said, a little wet. Sherlock wasn't the only one getting off on his spanking.

Sherlock frowned in distaste. "God, Mycroft, no. You know that's not my thing."

"I think you should broaden your horizons, dear brother. It's not like I'm asking you to go down on her. Besides, you have no say in the matter." He shoved the sopping panties into Sherlock's mouth before he could protest further. "Your mouth isn't wrapped around my cock, so it's not serving any practical purpose right now. I think you look adorable with a little pink lace poking out from between your lips." They had nonverbal safewords - Sherlock would tug on his trousers if he really wanted to stop - but none was forthcoming, and Sherlock's erection only got harder against his thigh.

"Thank you for being so generous, Anthea. I'll make sure Sherlock buys you a new pair."

"I'm happy to help, sir. Would you like me to drive back to Kensington now?"

"Mm, thank you. I think by the time we get there, his pretty white arse will be more of a glowing red."

Mycroft returned to spanking Sherlock, and his brother's muffled cries of pain and pleasure filled the car. He continued the spanking until the car reached the townhouse; Sherlock got enough blows to pay for insulting Anthea at least twice over.

"We're here, sir."

"Almost a shame, really. I do love administering a good spanking in the car." He dug his well-manicured fingernails into Sherlock's tender arse and dragged them across it - a final act of pain that caused Sherlock to tense around the ginger once more. Sherlock howled - the primal sound only partially muffled by the panties.

"Put your trousers back on, Sherlock." He released his grasp on Sherlock's back so he could get up.

Sherlock moved to take the panties from his mouth, and Mycroft slapped his arse once more. Hard. "Did I say you could take those out? They'll stay there as long as I want them to, just like the ginger."

Sherlock whined, but obediently pulled his pants and trousers back up. He winced as the fabric contacted his abused arse.

"Thank you for your help, Anthea. Have a lovely weekend."

"You too, sir," she said with a grin. "It looks like you'll have your hands full."


	2. And payment was given

Mycroft smiled and nudged Sherlock out of the car. Between the two blow-jobs and the spanking, he already looked well-fucked. Anyone who spared more than a passing glance would have seen the lace peeking from his mouth. As soon as Mycroft had closed the door to the townhouse, he pushed him against the wall.

"Not clever enough to get away with your little adrenaline games this year, Sherlock? You're slipping. Besides, if you need your endorphin rush, you know I'm happy to _provide._ " He grabbed Sherlock's crotch and gave it a hard squeeze. "But this time, it's not going to be about getting you off. I'm going to make sure you remember your lesson about The Evils of Shoplifting." Then he asked, in a completely conversational manner, "How's the ginger?"

Sherlock shot him a filthy look, and Mycroft just smiled.

"Go to the bedroom and strip; I'm going to make myself some tea. I want you with your shoulders on the floor and your arse in the air when I come in. It'll give me a nice view of the plug. Once I get finished with you tonight, you won't be able to sit for a week."

He took his time brewing the tea. The ginger would still be radiating fire throughout Sherlock's arse, and the pain and anticipation would make him that much more pliant.

When he entered the bedroom, Sherlock was positioned as he'd asked, with his spanked-pink arse facing the door. It was, in fact, a lovely view. "Oh, Sherlock. The things I'm going to do to you," Mycroft murmured, almost to himself.

It wasn't until he got closer that he saw something that made his cock throb with excitement. Sherlock had removed the panties from his mouth - spat them out, by the looks of it - they were lying next to his head on the floor. There would be severe repercussions for this, and they both knew it.

He strode over to Sherlock, crouched down, and yanked his head back by his hair. Then he picked up the panties and dangled them in front of his face. "Dear me, brother. These seem to have fallen out of your pretty little mouth. How could that possibly have happened?" His voice was all sweetness, but he pulled his brother's hair hard enough that Sherlock winced in pain.

"I will not have Anthea's soiled panties in my mouth."

Mycroft wadded them up and shoved them back in, deliberately pushing them far enough into his mouth that he gagged. He let him choke on them for a few seconds before he pulled them out. He wanted the verbal sparring, but he also wanted to make his point. "Oh really? It seems like you'll put just about anything _else_ in your mouth, you little whore. Those two guards certainly enjoyed spraying your throat earlier. Was that their idea or yours? If someone so much as flirts with you, you drop to your knees and put their cock in your mouth. Perhaps I should find something more appropriate for your mouth anyway; these panties aren't going to do much to muffle the noises you'll be making tonight." He let go of his brother's hair, and Sherlock's head dropped back onto his arms.

Mycroft went to the adjoining bathroom and returned with a towel, which he placed on the floor next to the wall. He grabbed Sherlock's hair again and made him crawl over to it. "Sit on this and grind your arse against the floor to move the ginger around. It's too bad I don't have a larger ginger plug, but it'll be replaced soon enough."

Sherlock winced as the tender skin of his arse moved across the towel.

"Fuck, Mycroft, this feels like sandpaper."

"Then feel lucky I didn't use actual sandpaper," Mycroft said, as he walked towards the toy chest. The gag he selected was the shape of a very short, but ridiculously-thick cock. It would stretch his mouth completely, but still allow him to breathe. Almost the width of two cocks, it would pry his jaw open uncomfortably wide.

He also selected some cuffs, a spreader bar, a massive anal plug, and some small, egg-shaped vibrators.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he stopped grinding his arse on the towel as he saw the assortment of toys.

"I wasn't joking, Sherlock. You're going to learn your lesson, one way or another. Even a little pain slut like you will be begging at the end of this. Trust me." Then he glanced at the huge gag, meaningfully. "Well, when I say begging, I mean whatever begging sounds like with a huge cock stuffed in your mouth. The fact that you've sucked off half of London makes me think you _must_ be desperate for something in your mouth - no doubt, the larger the better. I think this will do nicely."

"There's no way that's going to fit, My," Sherlock said, with a trace of actual fear in his voice.

"Oh, I disagree, dear brother. I'm sure I can force it in there. Consider it practise."

"Practise for what?" Sherlock asked, incredulously.

"Well, you seem to enjoy sucking cock so much, I think I'll make you available as an after-dinner treat at my next party. I'm sure someone else would be happy to join me in determining whether you can take two at once." He glanced at Sherlock's erection; it was rock-hard and pre-come was oozing from the tip in a steady stream. "You don't seem averse to the idea."

Sherlock stared at the floor, and said nothing.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't enjoy every second of that - every second of being used like the cheap little whore you are."

Sherlock still said nothing.

"Mm. That's what I thought. Wrists."

Sherlock met Mycroft's gaze, smiled, and held out his wrists for the thick, leather cuffs.

"Lie on your back, knees bent, feet flat on the floor."

He clipped Sherlock's wrists to each other and left them on his chest. Then he secured the ankle cuffs and attached them to the spreader bar. It forced Sherlock's legs wide and exposed his cock and balls, but left his arse mostly on the floor.

Mycroft twisted the lower half of his brother's body to the side to give him access to the ginger plug. He rotated it once, eliciting an agonised moan, and then removed it. Sherlock sighed with relief, only to yelp when Mycroft shoved it back inside.

"Fuck, My. Take it out!"

"I don't think you're in any position to be giving orders, brother." He left the plug inside him, and let his body return to its prone position on the floor. Mycroft picked up the large gag and smiled sweetly. "Open wide."

Sherlock licked his lips - he'd need all the lubricant he could get - and opened his mouth.

"Wider," said Mycroft, sternly. He placed his hand between Sherlock's head and the floor as he forced the gag inside. He wondered for a moment if it _was_ going to fit; his brother's normally full lips stretched into a thin line around the hard silicone of the gag. He managed to get most of it inside, then fastened the gag at the side of his head.

"Can you breathe freely?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded.

"Good. Use this if that changes, or if you need to stop." He placed a small clicker in Sherlock's hand.

With that issue out the way, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Sherlock's wrists were cuffed together, and his legs were spread wide, inviting Mycroft to do all manner of unspeakable things. The gag stretched the skin of his face tight across his cheekbones and around his mouth. It was obscenely beautiful.

"Have you figured out what the spreader bar is for, Sherlock?"

His brother furrowed his brow in confusion. Obviously, he hadn't.

Mycroft smiled. He grabbed the bar and raised it, straightening Sherlock's legs as he pushed it back towards his chest. It raised his arse off the ground and gave him full access.

"Now, you're going to hold it there for me." He raised Sherlock's hands to the bar, and let him grab it with the hand not holding the clicker. He stepped back again, admiring the view. "Look at you, so exposed. I can do anything I want with your tight, abused hole. Did you enjoy the ginger? I bet you'll never be able to walk into a Thai restaurant again without getting hard. The burn is so delicious, isn't it?"

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise.

"I've tried it myself, of course. Surely you didn't think I'd subject you to something I hadn't done." Sherlock's look rather suggested he did. Mycroft removed the plug once more. "All done with that. The burn will go away within a minute." He licked a finger and ran it over his puffy-looking entrance. Sherlock squirmed. "It'll still be sensitive, though. Just the way you like it."

He took the bar from Sherlock and lowered his legs and feet back to the ground. "I'll give you a few minutes to adjust. It seems only fair." He picked up the large silicone anal plug he'd selected earlier and studied it. "Hm," he mused, "I wonder if I should work up to this. It's awfully large." He stopped, pretended to ponder for a moment, and said "No, it's tapered, I think I'll be able to force it all inside you in one go. No tedious mucking about with all that preparation." Sherlock regularly took toys that size, and the diameter of the ginger had been more than adequate preparation. Sherlock would know that, but Mycroft also knew that the _idea_ of having a huge toy forced into his arse with no preamble turned both of them on.

He slicked up the toy, making sure Sherlock could see him while he did it. "Look at it, Sherlock. It's going to stretch your sore little hole so wide before it finally slips in there. The burn from the ginger may be gone, but you're going to feel every millimetre of this as it pushes inside you, opening you up as it goes. I'll have to go slowly - I want to make sure I don't damage you. I wouldn't want to break my toy before I get to play with it. I might let you suck off half of London, but I'm the only one who gets to plough that pretty arse."

Sherlock managed to swallow around the massive gag. His erection was like iron now, and Mycroft toyed with it a little, fluttering his fingers down the length of it, and painting his stomach with lines of pre-come. Sherlock made a muffled noise that sounded like pleading.

"Be careful what you wish for," Mycroft said with a filthy grin.

He lifted the spreader bar and made Sherlock grab onto it again. He took the toy and placed the tip of it at Sherlock's entrance. It was tapered to a point, and the first inch or so would go in with no effort. He pushed a half inch of it inside, barely enough to be felt at all, and held it there, unmoving.

Sherlock whined through the gag and tried to rock himself up on his spine to push his arse further onto the toy. It would have worked, by Mycroft pulled it back so it stayed in the same place. It teased his over-sensitised hole - just enough contact to make him need more, but not enough to satisfy.

"I just want to make sure I don't hurt you, Sherlock," Mycroft crooned, but they were both well aware it was just a torturous game.

He finally pushed the toy in another half inch and Sherlock sighed with relief. "Ooor," he begged through the gag.

"What was that, brother? I'm not sure I understood you. Did you say you want more?"

Sherlock nodded, desperately.

Mycroft smiled. "Why, of course." He pushed the toy in, much further this time, a little larger than the ginger plug had been. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed in pleasure. Mycroft started stretching him open in earnest now, twisting the toy and slowly burying it deeper in his brother's arse. He paused for a while before he got to the largest section of the toy. "Almost there. Are you ready?"

He nodded.

Mycroft gave it a final shove and it breached him completely. Sherlock's eyes flew open as it did so and he let out a muffled yelp, but then he relaxed almost immediately and closed his eyes as he adjusted to the intrusion. Mycroft took the bar from him and lowered it to the floor.

"You know, I sort of miss your acerbic wit, dear brother. Now that it's obvious you can fit far more in your mouth than you've been letting on, I'm going to take that gag out." He unbuckled it and eased it out of his mouth slowly.

Sherlock swallowed and worked his jaw before uttering a hoarse 'Thank you.'

"Of course, Sherlock. I decided I want to hear your reactions as I administer your punishment."

"What?"

"Your punishment. For the shoplifting. Surely you didn't think _this_ was the punishment?"

Sherlock stared at him in silence.

"No, we actually haven't started yet." He ran his hand, more firmly this time, along Sherlock's erection. "Remember I told you to be careful what you wish for? It wasn't just an exercise in poor grammar, my love. You want release, don't you…"

Sherlock nodded, but the realisation dawned slowly across his face. "Oh no."

"Mm," Mycroft said with glee. "You'll get your release, believe me. Eventually, you won't have anything left to paint that pretty stomach of yours, and I'll still keep going. I've always wondered how many orgasms you can force somebody to have."

"God, My. That's just cruel."

"Indeed. That's why it's punishment. I have full faith that you can take it, though. You'll probably even enjoy it; at least for the first few orgasms. I'm not a complete bastard though, I'm moving you to the bed. This might take a while, and I don't want you getting a cramp." He grasped Sherlock's bound wrists and gently placed his other hand behind Sherlock's back. Then he raised him to a sitting position and helped him stand. With the spreader bar, it was an awkward journey to the bed, but Mycroft soon had him situated - this time on a comfortable mattress.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, with genuine gratitude.

Mycroft smiled. "Of course." He moved out of Sherlock's line of sight and retrieved the vibrating eggs and some medical tape.

He taped the first one to the most sensitive area of his brother's cock, just below the fraenulum.

"What the…?" Sherlock's head flew up at the contact. "What the hell are you doing, Mycroft?"

"Well, I'm not doing all the hard work myself, Sherlock, and I'm _certainly_ not letting you do it. I can't trust you to do anything properly."

"But that'll take forever to get me off. It's just a vibrator."

"I'm not finished yet," Mycroft replied with a smile. "Although it is tempting to drag this out as long as possible, but I'm not going to deny myself pleasure _all_ night, dear brother. You're lucky I've restrained myself this long. The sight of you, tied up and plugged like that; it always gets me irretrievably hard. Perhaps when I've finished preparing you, I'll let you have a little treat."

Mycroft raised the spreader bar and pushed it back towards Sherlock's chest. "Hold this, please." He took the other vibrating egg and attached it with tape to the huge silicone toy in Sherlock's arse.

The silicone would transmit the vibrations nicely, and the toy was large enough to be in constant contact with his brother's prostate. It would start out feeling intensely pleasurable, but the overload of sensation would eventually become almost unbearable. The constant prostate stimulation would drag his body through orgasm after orgasm, whether Sherlock wanted it or not. The vibrator on the underside of his cock would just speed things along.

He took the bar from Sherlock and lowered his feet back onto the bed. The egg attached to the toy nestled into the duvet, ensuring that no amount of squirming around would accidentally remove it.

He turned both vibrators on, and Sherlock arched off the bed with a "Fuuuuck!"

"Your language is atrocious, brother dear, but I suppose I can forgive it, given the circumstances."

Sherlock's eyes were closed and his mouth open as he tried to concentrate on the pleasure he'd been denied so long.

"Been waiting all night for this, haven't you? You were probably hard when you walked into Harrods, thinking about getting away with your little game. Were you going to wank in a tube station afterwards, you filthy little slut? I swear, it's almost as if you want to get caught. Addicted to the danger. I'll have to keep you on a shorter leash."

Sherlock just moaned, too incoherent to even take in his brother's words.

Mycroft slapped him hard on the thigh, and Sherlock snapped out of it a little and turned to face him. "Answer my questions, Sherlock."

"Um… what were they?"

Mycroft sighed in mock exasperation. "Terrible focus for somebody who claims to be a genius. Tell me, did you enjoy your little session with the guards? I thought you might like a little treat."

"Your idea, then?" Sherlock managed, breathlessly. He already seemed dangerously close to his first orgasm.

"Oh, I don't know. It seemed as though you were more than happy to participate. I even saw you flirting with one of them on the way out. How many other people at Harrods did you flirt with tonight?"

Sherlock laughed. "Just two. Sales boys."

"Your restraint is admirable. I'm surprised the guards didn't find you on your knees in the lavatory, sucking them both off in turns. I should have brought them back here; I'm sure they'd enjoy seeing you like this. I wouldn't have let them have you, of course, but I'd have let them come all over your pretty face."

"Nggghhh," Sherlock arched his back and groaned as he came at the thought of it. His semen splattered across his taut stomach.

"Mm, I thought you'd like the sound of that." Mycroft checked his watch. "Three minutes. I'm surprised it took you that long. I half expected you to ruin my trousers while I spanked you in the car."

Mycroft started to undress, but Sherlock's full attention was currently devoted to his own pleasure. His cuffed hands were awkwardly stroking his cock back to hardness.

"Did I say you could touch yourself, Sherlock?"

His hands stilled.

"Go on, ask." It would be better if Sherlock helped himself along; it would get him to the desperate stage all the quicker.

"Please My, may I touch myself?"

"Very well, but don't move the egg. You'll have to work around it."

"Thank you," Sherlock smiled, and went back to fucking his fist.

"Tell me, brother, how does it feel, with both vibrators?"

He groaned with pleasure. "It's amazing. I can't believe I'm already hard again. It feels so good against my prostate. This isn't much of a punishment, My." His words were lazy. Slurred.

Mycroft just smiled and finished disrobing, but Sherlock wasn't looking. His head was tilted back into the pillow and his eyes were closed again. He was too busy enjoying himself to pay attention. It was time to give him something else on which to focus.

It wasn't until he climbed onto the bed, naked and hard, that Sherlock even noticed anything had changed. He squinted at Mycroft through a haze of pleasure. "You undressed."

"How observant."

Sherlock smiled as the realisation suddenly dawned. "Is it time for my treat?"

"You could say that. I do spoil you so."

Mycroft knelt astride Sherlock's chest, facing his cock.

Addled by hormones, Sherlock excitedly asked, "Are you going to suck me off?"

Mycroft laughed at the ridiculous assumption. "You didn't really think that one through, did you, dear brother? Don't you think it's time I got a little attention? I know I do. And this should command your _complete_ attention."

Mycroft braced his hand behind him on the headboard, and then he slowly lowered himself onto Sherlock's face. He stopped when he felt Sherlock's lips brush against his entrance.

"You're going to tongue my arse until I come, Sherlock. I'm sure you can manage it if you concentrate hard enough." He didn't mention he'd be stroking himself at the same time. "If you're not putting all your focus into the effort, I'll just have to remind you of your priorities. He lowered himself further, temporarily covering Sherlock's nose, as well as his mouth, with his arse.

Sherlock's hand, which had been furiously working his own cock, suddenly stilled, and Mycroft felt his brother's tongue push inside his arse, hot and wet and desperate. He ground his arse against Sherlock's face. "Good boy. See what you can do when you concentrate?"

Sherlock's body started to tense beneath him, and he raised himself slightly so Sherlock could breathe. His brother took in a deep breath, but then immediately returned his tongue to its task. Mycroft tilted forward a bit so he could rest his arse firmly on Sherlock's face without obstructing his nose.

"Now be a good little slut and put that tongue to a better use than you were earlier tonight, hm?" He took himself in hand and started to stroke, slowly and deliberately. The sensation of Sherlock's smooth chin beneath his balls was heavenly. Sherlock had rimmed him many times, though not often in this position. Being able to control his breath like this was so much more powerful, and he reserved it for special occasions. Sherlock knew what Mycroft liked though; firm jabs of his tongue, as deep inside of Mycroft's arse as he could manage, alternating with soft thrusts just inside his hole.

Between Sherlock's tongue and his own hand Mycroft was making strides towards his orgasm. But then Sherlock tensed beneath him, cried out, and started to come. He sat back on his brother's face: breath deprivation would make the orgasm stronger. Besides, Sherlock's tongue had left his arse when he cried out. That couldn't be tolerated. He felt it squirm wetly back into his hole even as Sherlock continued to shudder through his orgasm.

He mentally noted, with satisfaction, that the quantity of semen was half of what it had been before.

He knelt forward, breaking contact with Sherlock's mouth, and pulled two fingers through the mess on Sherlock's belly. He twisted to face his brother. "Want a little taste?"

His brother opened his mouth and nodded.

He placed both fingers in his waiting mouth and dragged them across his tongue. "So filthy, little brother," he purred. Then he scooped more from Sherlock's stomach and fed him again. "You'd better enjoy it now; you're going to be dry soon. Dry, and begging me to make it stop. I think you should return to the task at hand, though." He lowered himself back onto Sherlock's face and slowly fucked his fist. He gave his balls a sharp tug to drive away his orgasm; he wanted to make this last. His brother's tongue up his arse felt entirely too good to waste on a quick wank.

The vibrations against his prostate didn't let Sherlock enjoy the haze of orgasm for long, and his need soon built up once more. Mycroft let Sherlock go back to stroking himself as he rimmed him. Whenever his brother lost focus, he'd smother him for a few seconds, and his tongue would work his arsehole with renewed vigour. Although he tried to drag it out as long as possible, he eventually gave in to the eventuality of orgasm. He swung his leg over Sherlock's chest and turned to kneel beside his face. He forced Sherlock's mouth open and gave himself a few last, delicious tugs. The orgasm hit him like a train, and he came, shuddering, into Sherlock's open mouth and all over his delicate face.

Sherlock cleaned the area around his mouth with his tongue. Mycroft rested back on his heels, recovering, and lazily pushed the rest of the spunk across Sherlock's face until he could reach it. "Greedy."

"Always," Sherlock replied, still tightly wound from the constant stimulation and need. He flicked his tongue out of his mouth again to clean the rest of it. "Your cock as well. Let me clean it."

"At least you're thorough," Mycroft half-smiled, and leaned forward so Sherlock could take his now-flaccid dick in his mouth.

He sucked him clean, but then he tried to tease Mycroft back to hardness.

Mycroft pulled back, and softly chided, "Don't be so hasty. I'm not done with you yet, and I think I'd just like to watch for a bit." He reclined next to him on the bed, his sated, relaxed body contrasting starkly with Sherlock's tense form.

He closed his eyes, bathed in the glow of hormones and endorphins that always followed a good orgasm. He smirked at the sound of Sherlock's ragged breath, and the slap of skin on skin as he struggled to come again. "Not as easy as you thought it would be, is it?" he said with amusement.

"It's not fair, My," he whined. "It's going to take forever to have the next one."

"Mm. Possibly," he replied, unconcerned. He considered increasing the vibration level.

"It's alright for you, you're not the one with a huge vibrating cock jammed up your arse."

"That's an incredibly poor attempt at provocation, Sherlock. Don't you have anything better? Besides, if you desire my assistance, you'd be much better served by asking nicely or offering something in return."

"I'm. _Bored_."

" _That,_ however, is an incredibly _effective_ provocation." It took all his restraint not to slap him. He knelt next to Sherlock on the bed, and pulled him up by his bound arms so his face was inches from his own. "You ungrateful little brat." Mycroft's voice was cold and harsh, the earlier softness of orgasm completely gone from his manner. "If I hadn't intervened today, you'd be bent over a bunk in a holding cell right now, with five inmates taking turns fucking you and placing bets on who could make you scream first."

He dropped Sherlock back onto the bed in disgust. "I should have let them take you in. I'm sure it would be less _boring_ than this." He spat the word 'boring' at him and climbed off the bed. "Knowing you, you'd probably get off on it." He turned the vibrators to their highest setting and Sherlock whined desperately at the increased stimulation.

"You don't need an audience for these to do their work. I'll be back in an hour. Scream if it gets to be too much." He turned and headed for the door.

"Mycroft, wait…" Sherlock begged.

He rounded on him. "If I stay here," he said menacingly, "you will find out _exactly_ how upset I am. Since I'd currently like to plug your arse full of ice water and flog you until you bleed, I think we'd both be better served by my reading a book in the next room for a while. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sherlock stayed mercifully silent, and nodded.

Mycroft strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Then he leaned back against the wall, trembling. He eventually slid down it until he was sitting on the floor, with his arms wrapped around his knees. The fit of rage had passed, and now he just felt weak and horrible.

_Fucking Sherlock._

He'd been so incensed that he'd actually wanted to _hurt_ his brother. Really hurt him. And that terrified him to his core.

_Fucking Sherlock. Why is he such an incorrigible brat?_

He listened for any sounds inside the room. A few soft moans, but not particularly pained ones. Quite the opposite.

_Fucking Sherlock._

He went into the adjoining room and retrieved a chair, placed it near the door, and sat down to wait.

The soft moans would periodically turn anguished, and then go quiet again. Apparently, forced orgasms weren't nearly as agonising as they'd been in the past. _Perhaps he's building up a tolerance_ , he thought, amused _._ It was the first pleasant thought he'd had since he'd stormed out, and it gave him some hope that perhaps he'd be able to get past this.

 _I need him more than he needs me. God, that's terrifying._ It wasn't a new revelation, just an old wound that had to be reopened every now and then, lest he forget it was there.

He'd never been entirely sure where he stood with his brother. He'd accepted, long ago, that he loved Sherlock. He put up with all the bad behaviour and the insults so that he could bask in those rare prized offerings of love and affection. There was no denying the sexual attraction between them, of course: that had been there for years. But Sherlock's increasingly promiscuous and risky behaviour indicated a darker path. He needed to be reined in. He couldn't risk losing him.

_Fucking Sherlock._

"My?" Sherlock's voice sounded slightly ragged, but otherwise more or less normal. It certainly wasn't a scream.

"What?" _I'm not going in there. Not unless he asks._

"I'm sorry."

Mycroft said nothing.

"I pushed you to see how much you would take. I shouldn't have. I'm really, honestly sorry."

_Surprising. Especially if it's true._

"Please, My. Say something."

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you forgive me."

"I'm not sure I have, yet."

Silence hung in the air for a good thirty seconds before Sherlock spoke again. "Please come back in here, My. I don't want to have this conversation through a door."

He finally went inside. Sherlock lay in much the same position as when he'd left, except that his hair clung to his face in damp curls and there was evidence of at least three additional orgasms on his stomach. "It never got to be too much, then?"

"I think I'm getting better at channelling pain. Sensation. Whatever."

"Figures," Mycroft replied, in a rare lapse into colloquial English. He turned off the vibrators and unhooked his cuffs from the spreader bar. "How many times?" It was easier than having the other conversation.

"Five. No semen at all from the last two." He curled his legs beneath him, stretching the cramped muscles.

"And what did you learn?" He expected a comment about the ability to endure an unlimited number of orgasms.

"That I really don't like it when you're upset with me."

"Oh." He hadn't expected that. "I don't like it either," he said, not really sure how to respond. He walked into the bathroom to retrieve a towel; he wasn't prepared for eye contact after that. Not yet. He washed his hands - twice - just to stall for time. The solution seemed obvious: if _he_ could provide Sherlock with the stimulation he craved, in a controlled environment, there would be less chance of losing him. _Oh lovely,_ he thought, _a drug metaphor. Incestuous methadone._ Now he just needed Sherlock to agree to move in with him. _Right. And pigs will fly._ He took a deep breath, let it out, and returned to the bedroom with a fresh towel.

Sherlock had rolled onto his side, and he gave Mycroft a worried look. "I need this much more than I thought I did, My. I'm willing to do whatever I have to in order to keep it."

"Tell me _exactly_ what you are trying to keep."

"You. Emotionally. I'll even give up the sex with you if that's what it takes, but obviously I don't want to. Just tell me what I have to do."

"You have to stop pushing me just to see if I break. I do break, you know. If you just take that as read, it would be a lot easier." He tried to crack a smile. It almost worked.

Sherlock nodded, solemnly. "Alright. What else?"

"You move in."

Sherlock just stared at him. _And… this is where it all goes to hell,_ Mycroft thought.

"You're getting into too much trouble, Sherlock. I need to keep better track of you. I worry." Mycroft tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"No," Sherlock cut in. "I mean, you don't have to explain why. I'll move in."

"Really?"

"You sound surprised, My."

"I am. You'll move in, honestly?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Alright. No shoplifting," Mycroft continued. "No fucking half of London. If you want a sexual relationship with me, any other partners have to be negotiated. You need boundaries. You've been asking for them, and I've just failed to see it."

Sherlock shrugged, an action that looked slightly odd with his wrists still tethered. "Probably, yes. I hadn't given things much thought until tonight."

"You'll have your own room, of course. You'll keep working on your cases. In general, things will remain the same. I just want you here with me."

"Do I have to stay in my own room?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't," Mycroft smiled. "But I want you to have that option. I assume you're done with these?" Mycroft asked, pointing at the toys still taped to his genitals.

"I don't know. Am I?"

Mycroft actually laughed. "Good answer. Yes, you are." He removed the eggs (eliciting a few choice words from Sherlock regarding the selection of medical tape) and then gently eased the plug from his arse. After he unhooked his wrists, he handed him the towel and started unbuckling his cuffs. "Clean up a bit. You must feel disgusting."

"A little. Dried semen itches."

"Actually, we could probably both use a shower."

By the time they stepped into the large, glass enclosure, the emotional tension between them had vanished. The steaming hot water eased the physical tension in their muscles and generally felt wonderful.

When Mycroft closed his eyes to wash the shampoo from his hair, Sherlock pinned him against the wall and kissed him. Mycroft kissed back, enjoying every second, but eventually he pulled away so he could rinse the shampoo from his eyes and open them. Sherlock was staring at him.

"What?" Mycroft asked.

"Is there some way I can make this up to you? You know - sexually?"

Mycroft huffed. "Oh, so many different ways," he teased. His anger was gone, with only amusement in its place. "You're insatiable."

"I'm not, actually. Your toys left me pretty sated. I'm not sure I could orgasm again if I tried. But you only got one before I completely fucked things up."

"Mm," he agreed. The syllable was barely out of his mouth before Sherlock's hand was on his arse, pulling him in for another kiss. Then Sherlock's other hand was between them, rubbing against his flaccid cock.

"I'm still so stretched, My," he whispered. "You could just bend me over and slide your thick cock right in. Feel," he said, pushing Mycroft's hand towards his arse.

 _Fuck._ He tentatively brushed one finger over Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock pushed back onto it, and it slid in to the third knuckle with no resistance at all. _Oh, God._ He pulled back out and pushed in with two fingers. Still, almost no resistance. _Fuck. He feels like hot, smooth silk, and I just want to plunge myself into it._

"I could probably take your whole fist right now."

"It's not my fist I want in there," he said, his voice ragged.

He leaned out the shower door and fumbled for a condom and the lubricant in the bathroom cabinet.

Sherlock frowned in distaste when he saw Mycroft rolling on the condom. "You don't need that."

"I'm not fucking you without one until I've had you tested. I like to make sure my toys are clean." He slicked up his cock, which by this time was rock-hard, and pushed his brother towards the wall.

Sherlock bent at the waist and braced himself against the tiles.

"C'mon My. Fuck me. Hard."

He braced against Sherlock's hip, lined up, and thrust in to the hilt. _Oh God. So smooth._ Sherlock pressed back in encouragement, and Mycroft gave himself over to it, pounding his brother's arse in hard, short thrusts. He just needed to be buried inside him as far as possible. "You're mine, Sherlock. You understand that?"

"Yes, My… yours," he replied, between thrusts.

"If you're going to be a slut," Mycroft panted, "you'll be my slut."

"Always," Sherlock cried. "God, yes."

Mycroft moaned as his orgasm was ripped from him and he spent deep inside his brother. "Good," he said, breathlessly. He discarded the condom, and they both stood under the cascade of steaming water, catching their breath. A second later, he looked at Sherlock and added, "I just wanted to make sure we were clear on that."

"Definitely," Sherlock nodded, with a hint of a smile.

Mycroft pulled him close. "Good. We'll get your things tomorrow."


End file.
